


bring on the magic (of that old-fashioned love)

by darlingofdots



Category: The Locked Tomb Trilogy | Gideon the Ninth Series - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingering, Fluff, Fluffy Fifth Filth, Pegging, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Canon, Wall Sex, this is wholesome as heck folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29203533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darlingofdots/pseuds/darlingofdots
Summary: “So,” she said, casually, “got any plans for the evening?”“I don’t know,” he said, matching her tone. scratching thoughtfully at his chin. “Do I?” And he let his gaze wander meaningfully towards a drawer in her bedside table, and Abigail’s mouth went dry.“Well,” she said. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”
Relationships: Abigail Pent/Magnus Quinn
Comments: 10
Kudos: 33





	bring on the magic (of that old-fashioned love)

“I think they’re finally asleep,” Abigail said as she walked into the kitchen and brandished a bread knife before dropping it in the sink. “It’s a good thing we left early or I never would have gotten them settled before midnight.”

Her husband (her husband! Would she ever tire of that?) regarded the knife with some apprehension, but he leaned in to kiss her cheek and handed her a small bowl and spoon. “You are a miracle worker,” he said, “who deserves compensation for missing the dessert course.”

With a sigh, Abigail leaned back against the kitchen counter and dipped her spoon into the heap of fruit and sweet cream. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Don’t you mean, what did you to do dessert-ve me?” He waggled his eyebrows, too, and she swatted at him with the spoon, sprinkling his fine evening shirt with cream.

“You are a menace, I should have known better.”

Magnus said, “And you married me anyway,” and took advantage of her indulgent smile to flick an overripe raspberry at her. It hit her square on the chin and only sheer luck prevented it from landing on her dress as it dropped to the ground; she glared at him, fighting desperately for control over her face.

“Is this a challenge?” she asked, loading up her catapult, but he raised his hands in surrender and cried peace, claiming that one duel was enough for one night.

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” he told her earnestly, which was nonsense, but they ate the rest of their dessert in silence broken only by the clinking of spoon against bowl. Abigail washed while Magnus dried, and when they were done, she found herself gazing at him with what she knew to be a horribly infatuated expression.

He was polite enough not to mention it. What he did say, however, was: “You’ve got something on your chin.”

She rolled her eyes and raised her hand to wipe the stain away, but he caught her wrist. “Let me.” They were already standing close together, side by side at the brushed copper sink, so he did not have to lean in very far to brush his lips over hers, just barely, before he kissed the drops of juice from her skin.

They were both a little bit wine-drunk, in that pleasant state before real inebriation when the world has gone a little soft around the edges. Magnus Quinn kissed his wife’s chin, and her jaw, and all the way up to her ear and the soft skin of her neck. He mouthed at the shell of her ear and laughed softly when she sighed and tilted her head, and then his hands were on her waist and she leaned into him, all solid strength and warmth. She tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled at his shirt with the other so she could slip her hand under the fabric, and he was kissing her neck, and then the floor dropped away from under her feet and she was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. She was suddenly very glad that she wore the ridiculous silk skirt that she hated because it was full enough that Magnus could push her knees wide and stand between them, and make short work of the buttons of her bodice.

She loved his hands, loved how they could wield a rapier and rescue butterflies from fountains and fit so perfectly to her body, how he knew how to touch her and make her gasp into the echoing silence of the room. His thumbs brushed her nipples through the layers of her undergarments, circling the hardening buds, and he kissed her again, teasing at her bottom lip until she opened herself up to him and welcomed him in, hot and demanding.

Abigail reached for the buttons of her husband’s shirt and yelped in frustration when that made him pull away, but he only circled her wrists and pressed a kiss to the palm of each hand, swirling his tongue over the broken crease of her lifeline. He set her hands firmly down on the countertop. “Let me,” he said again, and unbuttoned himself until the fabric gaped open to his navel, and she wanted to touch him so badly — but when he gave orders like that, it was worth the frustration to obey. She gripped the edge of the granite worktop, hard enough that it dug into her palms.

By the time he finally deigned to reach for her skirts, she was breathing hard, and he was apparently unruffled. He pushed the layers of petticoats and silk up to her knees, running his hands up the length of her calves, pausing to draw infuriating circles with his thumbs. He had the audacity to grin at her.

“Please,” Abigail said, from under her lashes, the first weight of her hair and the two dozen gold-tipped pins holding it in place tipping her head back. She was aware of the tableau she presented — more than half undressed, severely _en dishabille_ , legs wide and lips red and swollen, her eyes dark with need — and she knew what that did to him, could feel the heat emanating from his body. She let go of the countertop so she could place her hands behind her and lean back, lifting her hips towards him in blatant supplication. “Please, darling.”

Magnus swore, which was very satisfying, and dispensed with her underwear, which Abigail tried to remember so she could discretely retrieve it later. He buried one hand in her hair, drew her close for a searing kiss, and caressed her with the other, not bothering with gentle buildup once he felt how wet she was already; there were times for tenderness and the slow, sweet exploration of each other, and there were times like this, when they were both eager and a little desperate, and they had been sitting still and making polite conversation with strangers for hours, and they simply needed one another. Abigail moaned into his mouth as his fingers circled and rubbed and pressed, just enough that she knew she wanted more but couldn’t quite articulate just what that would entail.

The granite was warming up underneath her but still hard and unforgiving; the edge dug into her thighs. Magnus drew his fingertips along the core of her, just barely, and the fire he had stoked inside her flared up high and bright. She shuddered when he finally pushed inside, in a series of gentle thrusts that all but drove her mad, and she actually begged: “I need more,” she panted against his lips, her voice raw and low. “Please, whatever you want —”

He could have made it easy; he knew her well enough that he could have brought her up and over the edge with a few easy movements. But this was not about easy. He slowed to an infuriating rhythm of teasing and withdrawing, letting the tension build but never release, and she bit his lip the fourth time he did it and licked the blood from his mouth, because she, too, had chips to play in this game.

“Have you had enough yet?” he asked, grinning again despite the red tint on his teeth, and chuckled when she glared at him. He relented anyway. Abigail closed her eyes and let him take her apart with hard, fast thrusts and the heel of his hand against her until she came, shuddering, with his arm around her waist to hold her up. He kissed the tip of her nose. “That was beautiful, my love.”

But Abigail was not done; the elaborate belt buckle gave her some trouble, but she overcame that hurdle with sheer stubbornness and force so she could get finally get her hands on him. It was his turn to gasp and shiver as she swirled her thumb over the head and wrapped her hand around him; she scraped her teeth along the column of his throat, at the line where beard met skin, and grinned when he hissed at the sensation.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around him, and he groaned.

“We’re not going to make it to bed,” he said, but carried her over to a section of the wall mercifully free of pans or knives or kitchen towels and kissed her so hard she thought she might bruise. She held on to him, her arms around his neck, as he pushed at her skirts and finally buried himself inside her.

She wasn’t going to come like this; that was alright. She hid her face in the fabric of his shirt, breathing in the smell of him as he set a relentless pace, her back against the wall, gasping at the feeling of fullness and hot, slick friction and revelling in the intimacy of it all, the certainty that he was hers for the rest of their lives, and when he finally froze and spilled inside her, she was almost sobbing. She petted his hair as they stood there, still joined, held up by his solid, comforting strength, and waited for the inevitable sensation of loss when he withdrew.

Kissing Magnus had become as easy as breathing, so she did, until he rested his forehead against hers and sighed. “Bed?”

“Please.”

“Did you take your pills?”

Abigail glared at him, but as he liked to remind her every time she complained, this was part of his duty to her, so she fetched the bottle from the cupboard, counted out her dose of supplements supposed to keep her necromantic body going past forty, and swallowed them dry, which both her husband and little Isaac thought was the worst habit any person had ever had. At least Magnus took the time to wipe down the counter and put the clean dishes away. His eyes betrayed his thoughts like an unwound scroll — the fact that she knew him so well was the only reason she did not flinch when he bowled her over and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of so many onions.

“You’re incorrigible,” she told his back, and beast that he was he only chuckled and patted her behind. He tossed her onto their bed with enough force that the impact squeezed the air from her lungs and left her speechless for a moment.

By the time she got her breath back, her husband had shucked his clothes for good and made a start on the straps of her shoes, fumbling with the gold clasps, so she took pity on him and took them off herself and rolled her stockings down too. Between the two of them they managed to free her from the ridiculous getup her mother still insisted on for formal occasions (Abigail may have flung the petticoats to the floor with more relish than strictly appropriate), and then she was free and utterly bare before him as he was before her.

Magnus gave her an exaggerated look up and down, eyebrows raised, clearly appreciative. She was past the stage where his gaze made her blush, but not past dramatically draping herself against the pillows and lifting one hand to her breast, fingertips drawing lazy circles as she met his eyes. “So,” she said, casually, “got any plans for the evening?”

“I don’t know,” he said, matching her tone. scratching thoughtfully at his chin. “Do I?” And he let his gaze wander meaningfully towards a drawer in her bedside table, and Abigail’s mouth went dry.

“Well,” she said. “I’m sure something can be arranged.”

First, though, because they were not twenty anymore and he needed time to recover, he spent the next twenty minutes with his face buried between her thighs, coaxing another two orgasms out of her at an almost leisurely pace until she pushed him away, breathing hard, a sheen of sweat glinting on her skin. He helped her into the harness; her fingers slipped on the buckles and it gave him an opportunity to admire the smooth leather, a rich, deep brown inlaid with gold, and then he helped her into his shirt because night-time climate control was, at best, a bit nippy.

With both hands on his shoulders, Abigail pushed until he was flat on his back, retrieved the bottle from the drawer to oil herself up, and preened a little when his eyes went dark and he licked his lips. When he spoke, his voice was rough and tight and sent a shiver down her spine. “You are the most beautiful creature I have ever beheld.”

Her hair had long since started coming loose; tendrils of it curled over her shoulders and down to her waist, all silky and smooth. Magnus wrapped a strand around his hand to admire it. “I thank the King Undying every day for you,” he said, and Abigail blushed, and he added: “Now fuck me, my love,” so she did.

They built up to it, of course — no point in rushing and risking a premature end to the fun and a midnight trip to the physician’s, never mind the embarrassment — but when she finally rocked into him, inch by agonising inch, Magnus was begging, low and vaguely incoherent, and Abigail had never been good at denying him anything. She tilted her hips for a better angle and _rolled_ , the base of the toy pressing just so against her where she needed it, and she offered her hand to him to kiss and swirl his tongue over her palm and when she reached for him, it was only a matter of moments until he came, swearing, over her hand and his belly even as she tumbled over the edge with a whimper.

They went to sleep, eventually. First, Abigail sang his praises as she withdrew and cleaned them both up, stroking his hair and kissing his jaw. He pulled her in when she returned from the bathroom, still gloriously naked, her back to his chest and his arm possessively around her waist. She moved only once to shuck his shirt, drop it somewhere off the edge of the bed, into oblivion, and Magnus took the opportunity to manoeuvre them both under the covers so she wouldn’t catch a chill.

“What have I done to deserve you?”, he murmured, finally settled, and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.

**Author's Note:**

> Fifth House Appreciation Hours are 24/7, no exchanges, no refunds.
> 
> Title from I draw slow's 'Same Old Dress Will Do'.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr!](https://darlingofdots.tumblr.com/)


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